The Setting Sun
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: England was never going to contain Lord Voldemort's ambitions. His lust for power and control continues to expand.


This is for the third round at the Lightening Competition that had to be AU. Of course I chose Voldemort wins using a similar idea to Fallacies. As well, it also doubles as a response to a prompt 'Empires' on livejournal. As always, the comments in this fic, especially about the colonies, are not my own.

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Since he was a young boy, the then Tom Riddle was well aware of the phrase "the sun never set on the British Empire". It stretched from the Suez Canal in Egypt, to India and into the colonies and dominions of Asian and the Pacific region.

However, as he aged and grew to have another name, darkness would start to settle over the Empire and the sun would begin to set. Time after time weaknesses had been allowed to infiltrate the leaders and concessions had been given to the rats and the rabble until they broke away completely and most of the old great Empire had gone.

Of course, they had been muggles. No one should have been surprised by their errors.

Anyway, it was not too much of a loss. That old empire had been filled with muggles and scum.

This new Empire eradicated the filth whenever it could.

Staring at the enchanted vision of a bright summer's day, Voldemort hardly saw the sight.

His mind was on greater thoughts.

He had been a teenage boy still in his Hogwarts robes when he had truly planned out his future. Tom Riddle had set visions for his own power through an inability to die and more pure strength than anyone else in history had envisaged. He had made allies in all the right places and he had stitched together an outline for how everything would interact and deliver what he desired.

In eyes that had transformed from dark midnight blue to a bloodied disposition and finally to awe inspiring scarlet, battles had raged before him, lives had been lost and nations had fallen.

Until all had resulted in what was now before him: A true British Empire.

In 1982 the cracks he had worked to make appear had finally led the Ministry of Magic to fall into a heap of dominoes. Through the chaos, he and the Death Eaters had strolled through the Atrium and he had been declared Minister of Magic.

It was just the position he deserved.

It had never stopped there.

It had only been the beginning.

An army had been introduced in Wizarding Britain for the first time since the fifties and the demilitarisation at the end of the war. He had bided his time before it had been launched across Europe.

Others may have seen it as impossible to hold the continent. Those who suggested such a thing were merely clueless about the right way to act and how to strategise correctly. They would have sited Grindelwald the fool or they might even have been clueless enough to name failed muggle dictators. They did not understand.

It was all about timing.

He had created an alliance with France and then he had used their combined strength to conquer Germany and Italy. He could have shared their spoils with France.

For a while, he had.

Again, it was about time.

He had eventually acted again. France had tried to ask for too much. He had locked onto purity sentiments in Spain while he had used the combined strength of the newly conquered German and Italian armies to squash their previous ally.

It went on and on. In the might of their united power, the Balkans fell and so did the important posts in North Africa and the Middle East. It was like a game of chess: Picking times, picking when to concede and always being determined to ensure victory. It was lucky he had always been a master player.

Now the largest threat to their European power was Russia: The impenetrable fortress that had halted so many. Most of those had been muggles, but the risk of the nation should not be taken lightly.

The attack had been launched and all that was left to do was to wait in his office. Many would think he would be opposed to the notion of waiting around. Occasionally he was, but not this time. The deadline was still being kept to and, more importantly, he was waiting for something that was completely in his control.

Led by Bellatrix Lestrange, the army was entirely under his thumb. He was not accustomed to trusting anyone. He did not trust her, at least not in the standard sense of the word, but he trusted his own manipulations of the woman and his judgements of her fanatical loyalty.

He was not the only one in his office.

Behind him there were advisors and military experts crowding around and whispering quietly to themselves as if they were afraid of upsetting him. Despite the fact his back was to them, he had no doubt they would constantly be shooting cautious glances at him to determine his mood. They were certainly an odd bunch: Some new while others still carried the mark from the old days.

It did not matter. All had a role to play in his chess game.

Slowly his long fingers caressed the window seal. It was cool to touch and, still, he waited.

He could have predicted everything. For it was practically at the time he had foreseen that the door slammed open.

The room hushed as the distinct clatter of heel boots walked towards his desk. It was only when the slight smirk from his snake and mask like face had faded that he turned to face the woman before him.

Dressed in the straight cut black robes lined in silver and green that made up the military uniform of the Empire's Army, Bellatrix Lestrange did a poorer job than he did of containing her joy. It lit up her slightly aged but undeniably still attractive face.

"Is it done?" he questioned as he focused his eyes on the woman before him waiting and checking for any doubt or hesitation.

The only thing he saw was the increase in the joy emitting from her.

"It is, my Lord," she murmured with sheer joy and reverence. "It is Master. Your forces made it into Moscow this morning and the unconditional surrender of the Russian Ministry was received not long after. Russia is yours, my Lord."

The room of dignitaries and delegate erupted into frenzied whispers and excited cheers. It was a mark of his own pleasure that Voldemort allowed his lips to curl upwards into a slight smirk of his own before he raised one pale hand and silenced the room with only a small gesture.

"Then, it is time," he said curtly. With a sweep of his long black robes he strode from the room with pride and importance as the train of workers followed after him.

Soon the sun would never set on his Empire.


End file.
